


Fear the Dark

by LacePendragon



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Noir, Blood and Injury, Body Horror, Dark, Detectives, F/F, F/M, Gore, Gray Morality, Happy Ending, M/M, Magic, One Night Stands, Shapeshifters - Freeform, Slow Burn, So Much Gray Morality, Supernatural - Freeform, Tags to be added, Trauma, Trauma Recovery, Urban Fantasy, View Discretion is Advised, Violence, Warnings to be added, Werewolves, implied sexual violence, noir, past trauma, rough/violent sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2020-12-09 06:37:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20990471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LacePendragon/pseuds/LacePendragon
Summary: Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?Five years ago, extranormal detectives James Ironwood and Li Ren put away the worst killer Atlas had ever seen, but not before James lost half his body and six months of his life. But, when a new case appears with evidence of the same killer, James and Li realize the worst: they ruined a family and put an innocent woman behind bars, and the real killer walks free.To save the city, and their souls, the two must find the real killer and take them down, but they can't do it alone. With so much tied into depths of dark magic that James and Li have never seen before, the two must put their faith in the shapeshifting nomad that keeps crossing their path: Qrow Branwen. Qrow, affected by the case five years ago, wants nothing more than to see this killer put away, but he has his own reasons for it.Secrets mount as the men circle closer to the killer, and the killer, and the falsely accused, circle closer to James and Qrow.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Heed the tags, this shit is gruesome, gritty, and dark. And yes, it does have a happy/satisfying ending. Because this is a "we suffer for our happiness" house.
> 
> So, I started working on a version of this fic way back in 2016. I put it down for a long time, only to go back to it over and over in the last few months. Eventually, I scrapped the old one and rewrote it to this. I've been craving something dark and twisty, something gruesome and bloody, something with mystery and anger and intrigue. Something... like this.
> 
> There's a lot going on in this and no one is a hero or a villain. They're all simply people. Broken, terrified people in a world that is becoming more like a nightmare every day.
> 
> Enjoy.

**James Ironwood**

The call came just after two in the morning on a Sunday. After ten years in the force, James had learned that the worst nights were always the foggy period between Saturday night and Sunday morning. During those few hours, clinging to the edges of midnight, the veil between magic and mundane was thinnest and the strangest parts of both worlds came out to play. Some weekends, it was just a meth head with a Ouija board and a knife. Others, it was slighted and bullied teenagers and a thrift store Necronomicon. The worst weekends were the malicious ones, when the monsters that came out to play were every bit as nasty and dangerous as the fairy tales said they were.

By the sound of the call, it was going to be one of _those_ nights.

James pulled up on the scene, a modest, two-storey house in a neighbourhood that had more PTA parents than troubles, a little over half an hour after he answered the call. Already, half a dozen patrol cars parked in a rough barricade in the street. The lights spun blue and red highlights into the night, throwing everything into a stark and ghastly contrast.

James’ own car, an oil slick in the night against the spotlights of the force, stuck out from the crowd. Only one person watched him pull up: his partner in the force, Li.

Li waited for him against one of the patrol cars, nursing a steaming paper cup of coffee printed with one of the _Nightly Doses_ logos – the best of the 24/7 coffee shops in the city. A second one sat on the roof of the car, waiting for James.

Li nodded to him as he approached, silent and thoughtful as ever. His long hair was piled into a messy bun, pressed tight to the back of his head, and its prominent streaks of grey seemed to suck in the colour of the spiralling lights behind him.

“What’re we looking at?” asked James, taking the coffee and leaning next to Li. His fingers itched for the cigarettes he’d given up months ago. The taste of nicotine thick in the air from other officers milling about the scene. They spoke to a handful of shaken, alternating blue and red people who clung to their robes and blankets, their faces gaunt in the high contrast shadows.

His gaze slid to the house. The bright yellow “DO NOT CROSS” tape was already stretched across the fence and bushes in front of the house. Other tape had been stretched across the shattered bay window, to the left of the front door. The glass was burst outward, thousands of fragments glittering multi-coloured in the lawn.

“Double homicide,” said Li, blowing on his coffee. The steam rippled. “Young parents, both of them extranormal rights lawyers. Signs of forced entry in the back. Bodies found, dismembered, in the living room.” He frowned. “By the look of it? Monster.”

James pressed his lips together. “Parents?” he echoed. “What happened to the kids?”

Li shook his head. “Kid, singular. Five-year-old Penny Polendina.” Li pulled his phone out of his back pocket and swiped it open, handing it to James. A picture of a freckled, beaming little girl stared up at him. Her green eyes and orange hair were brilliant in the autumn lighting of the picture, and there was a wreath of red, orange, and gold leaves in her hair. “Can’t find her.”

“Kidnapping?” asked James. He shook his hands a bit as he handed the phone back to Li. Kidnapping on a full moon? Kid would be dead by morning. _Christ._ His mouth went bitter at the thought. Sacrificing kids was a crime unlike any other, if you asked him.

“No,” said Li. James let out a slow breath, hesitantly hopeful. “No signs of kidnapping. Neighbours say they didn’t see anything. Monster couldn’t have moved her without anyone seeing anything.”

“’Less it was a shade,” said James. He sipped his coffee, letting it burn, hot and black, all the way down to ground him. “They can move ‘em easily enough.”

Li shook his head. “That’s what I’m telling you, James. Her mum was star-touched. The lightshow when she was murdered woke up the whole neighbourhood.”

James sucked in a breath. “Which means the kid either was killed at the same time and moved, or she’s still in the house.” You couldn’t move a star-touched on a full moon. Not unless you wanted the whole damn city to see. That sort of fey magic was impossible to predict. And those people lit up like Christmas trees under the light of the full moon. He shook his head. “Christ.”

“Yeah,” said Li, sighing. “You’re telling me.”

James took another swig of his coffee. “Shall we?” he asked. Li hummed. Together, the two headed across the road and up the pathway to the house, lifting the yellow crime tape to duck under it. They passed two other officers, who murmured hello to them both before heading back to their cars. With the initial look through done, it was James and Li’s turn. The joys of being extranormal detectives.

At least they usually had the evidence markers down by then. Made their job a little easier.

The front door was undamaged, but a bloody streak marked the wall next to it. Slim hand, and the blood shimmered, iridescent and silver within the red. Must have been the wife. James nodded to it and Li nodded at him.

The living room was to their immediate left, upon entering, through an archway that was shattered along one edge, a chunk missing out of it from what seemed to be a massive, clawed hand.

The bodies were the worst part, but they always were. They were barely recognizable as people; their faces were slashed into ribbons, their teeth scattered against the bloody floor, their chests were ripped open, ribs peeled back like they were made from paper to reveal empty chest cavities. Cannibal? Or ritualistic sacrifice? Or something else entirely.

The blood was still wet and slick against the floor, iridescent and shimmering in places. Fey and mundane. There was so much blood, but there always was. Hell, he was surprised there wasn’t more, considering the vast emptiness beneath their shattered ribs.

James crouched next to the wife’s body and pressed his lips together, skimming the injuries. The bones were ragged and sharp where they’d been broken. Fragments of bone decorated her blood-soaked clothing and the inside of her chest. The blood splatters around her, at a slight distance, were angular. She’d been struck in the face by the same claws that had gouged the archway. That’d explain the skin on both of them.

But… there were parts that didn’t make sense. A monster in the house of a fey? Monsters didn’t touch the fey, especially not beasts. And there was the rest of it, as well.

“This makes no sense,” said James, shaking his head. He drew himself back to his full height and combed his fingers through his hair, turning to look at Li. “You said they were extranormal rights lawyers?” Li nodded. “And the wife was fey. Why the hell would a monster kill them? This rings closer to a hate crime.”

He pulled his latex gloves out of his pocket, he always kept a pair on him, and tugged them on. One over his bare hand, the other over his leather gloved right. He cast a look around the room, trying to spot any signs of robbery, but there was too much out of place to know for certain.

Li sipped his coffee and shrugged with one shoulder, when James’ gaze returned to him. “That’s what I thought, but the evidence is here, James.” He cast a look at the flat screen TV that laid overturned on the floor, near the sofa. “Nothing human could cause this sort of damage.”

James hummed. That was true. Even hopped up on Dust, the average person couldn’t cause _this._ The ribs were the easiest way to tell. James knew of only a handful of creatures that could even _think_ of doing this, let alone pull it off. The jagged edges and bone fragments meant this was an act of fast, malicious brutality. No blades, no sharp edges. Just pure, brute force. Unusual and terrifying.

And yet, not unfamiliar. He’d seen this before.

Li downed the rest of his coffee in one go and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. That done, he shifted the cup under one arm and tugged on his own latex gloves, which he pulled out of his back pocket – the same one that’d had his phone. “Right now, our priority is to get a statement together for when the fey council comes knocking at dawn.”

James levelled Li with a flat stare. “Our priority is to find the daughter,” said James, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Li grimaced. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry.”

“Li, you have a kid,” said James, sighing. The man’s priorities were worrisome at the best of times, and right now, they were aggravating. “Focus on the living, not the dead.” Or nearly dead, he thought, about the fey council. Those ancient behemoths were older than some cultures and the whole of the council liked as much as James liked them.

He moved around the bodies, careful to avoid the blood, and picked up a few of the bone fragments, depositing them into an evidence bag. He sealed the bag and set it on the floor where the others were currently stashed.

Li sighed and scrubbed his fingers through his hair with his still clean gloves, then crossed the room to the blown-out bay window. He touched the edge of the glass and then looked up, following the line of the break.

“I know,” he said, voice soft. He wouldn’t look at James. James moved to the gouges in the archway and the claw marks in the wall. They were large, deep, and somehow uniform in their violence. Four marks, the fourth one always thinner and shorter than the rest. Pinkie fingers, then.

But what would make these marks? What had this strength?

“James…” Li sighed. James touched the side table under the large, broken mirror. Fractured into a thousand pieces, but none of them fallen from the frame. He frowned at it, wondering. That was unlikely, not impossible, but unlikely. Curious. He’d have to get the photographers to get some shots of that.

“James.”

He turned at Li’s quiet word, raising an eyebrow at the man. Li shook his head, eyes closed as he turned, face in profile. “I know we need to find her. I know the child is important. I also know you’ll find her. My job is to mediate between the fey and the precinct. If I don’t focus on that, then we could have a diplomatic crisis on our hands.”

He turned and headed for the kitchen, smacking his gloved hands together a few times.

“Right,” said James, sighing. Last time they’d had a fey murder in Vale, it’d been two damn weeks of diplomatic negotiations and frantic messages. The portals to the feywylds hadn’t closed once, and half a soldiers had come with the Ambassador. If it hadn’t been for Li, it could have been all out war. That was when he’d been promoted to his current role as fey-mundane diplomatic relations specialist of Vale within the precinct.

James had said it then and he’d say it again, now: _Fucking elves._ The faunus didn’t start a war when one of them was in a murder case, and neither did the dragons.

Though both were bad examples, as faunus had fought for the right to be considered people and _not_ be slaughtered like wild animals, and dragons were powerful, dangerous beasts whose hearts could literally be consumed to gain immortality and had been driven to near extinction over the fact.

…Hrm. Maybe the fey had a point to their dramatics.

“What do you think it was?” Li called from the kitchen, jarring James from his thoughts. James shook his head to try and clear the strange thoughts that these sorts of nights always brought him.

“Don’t know,” James replied. “Beast of some sort, obviously. Maybe a shapeshifter? Skinwalker?” He touched the wall, just below the scratch marks, with the tips of his rubber gloved fingers. The gouges were too uniform to be wild, which meant that whoever’d done this, they were cognizant. “Maybe a feral faunus.”

“It wasn’t one of us.” James turned at the new voice and nodded to Ghira as the massive man stepped into the room. “I know the smell of my people. There were no faunus here.”

James nodded. “Apologies,” he replied. He cast a look down to the wife and grimaced. “So, shapeshifter? Skinwalker?”

“Or a were’,” said Li, walking back into the room. He tugged off his gloves and stuffed them into a plastic waste bag he’d tied on his belt.

James shook his head. “Weres’ aren’t in control after the shift.” He tugged off his own gloves and slipped them into Li’s bag. “Whatever this monster is, it’s in control.”

“All right,” said Ghira. “What about the daughter? You have any idea where she might be?”

Li and Ghira both looked at James, who sighed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small piece of charcoal. Using his right hand, he sketched out a symbol on the back of his hand and flexed his fingers, tucking the charcoal back into his pocket.

James took a deep breath, then another, then a third. He closed his eyes and centered himself against the magic currents that flowed all around him. A dark stain blotted out much of the light of the magic around the area. Not quite blood, not quite death, but something else entirely. Something _evil_ that refused to be ignored. James reached passed the stain and probed the depths for something lighter.

There wasn’t much he could find. He took as much as he could find and drew it out. A taste of shadow lingered on his tongue as he called forth the symbol on his hand.

It was harder than it should have been, but there were reasons for that.

The darkness. The hesitation. The disuse. The fact that he had almost no magic in his bones anymore.

It’d been like that for five years. Losing half your body, and half your ley lines, could destroy all your magic, especially when you lost your Mark. It was a miracle that James could do this at all. Most days, he couldn’t. Nights like this, he was grateful it was only “most”.

In the shadows of the house, in the dark depths of the magical fields, he found a solitary light, pinging for the feywylds.

The daughter.

James opened his eyes and lowered his hand. “Found her,” he murmured. He moved through the house, an intruder in the phantoms of an already dying home. He pulled open the door to a pantry, crouched down, and pulled open a secondary door, tucked into the corner.

He was met with bright green eyes and glowing freckles. She didn’t say a word, just scooted back, eyes wide and entire body trembling.

“Hey,” said James, soft. “My name is James, I’m a detective. Do you know what’s happened?”

She nodded, slow and steady. Those giant doe eyes stared up at James, with all the pain in the world hidden in their depths.

Her aura pushed at James’, begging for access. He gave it to her, letting his shields come down so she could probe at his aura, his very essence, at her leisure. For several minutes, he remained there, even as his left thigh screamed at him to shift, he remained.

Only when her gentle probing ceased did James speak.

“You’re safe now,” said James, holding out his hand to her. “Do you want to come with me?”

She stared at his leather gloved hand, then up at him. Her freckles flickered and danced, a brilliant green, just like her eyes. Some settled to a dark cinnamon, but the rest stayed the same. Her aura washed over James’, her fear clinging to the stability of his own calm. As if she was looking for a rock to cling to amidst a tsunami.

He waited.

Slowly, ever so slowly, she reached out and took his hand. She followed James out of the cupboard and into the kitchen. Thankfully, the carnage was hidden from where she stood in front of James.

Ghira crouched in front of her. “I think it’s best if I take you to the police station, okay? You’ll be okay. We’ll get you some blankets and find you a place to sleep.” She stared at Ghira, looked to James, silent. Fear spiked in the connection she’d formed between hers and James’ aura. He gave her a little smile, comforting but not pushy, and let his calm radiate out to her. She looked to Ghira nodded. Ghira took her hand and led her to the backdoor. He paused, on the way out and said, “You two should keep looking around. If you need anything, call me.”

“Yessir,” said James, nodding. Li hummed. Ghira left. The door banged shut and the connection between James and the girl, Penny, faded and broke with all the force of a gentle breeze. He blinked a few times until he felt himself stabilize at the sudden loss.

Li moved back to the living room, but James lingered in the kitchen, even after he was stable. He had a hunch, but there were some things he needed to check in order to shake that fear and move into more reasonable, logical theories.

First, the cabinets. He pulled them open and sucked in a sharp breath. No iron cutlery, as fey couldn’t touch iron. Silver, instead. And all of it corroded and destroyed from the lingering acid that singed James’ nose and eyes.

Premediated. Ghira had said there were signs of forced entry from the back – the backdoor was not ten feet from James. When Ghira had gone out it, James had thought it was fine. But, when he looked, he saw the warped frame and the empty windowpane. Almost as if the glass had simply ceased to exist.

He shook his head.

Closing the drawer, James moved to the dining room, to the right of the kitchen. He scanned the room for candle holders and found three – all empty. Bits of broken off wax clung to the bottom of the holders, as if they’d been ripped from their stands. James hummed, still frowning, and moved through the house and into the living room. Candle holders, the fancy ones, all empty. All with bits of broken wax upon their bottoms.

He crouched next to some of the broken window glass in the living room and sucked in a sharp breath. More wax. Bits of paper clung to the glass and when he turned it over, he found the label for a candle. Not all window glass then. Some of it glass containers for candles. The three-wicks and pre-poured that were sold in little boutique stores.

The glass in the backdoor had been vanished for quiet. The front window destroyed for purpose and for hiding evidence.

Powerful, intricate magic combined with brutality. Perfect harmony of mind, body, and aura.

He knew this crime scene.

Shaking his head and letting out a low, shaky breath, James pulled himself to his full height. Li was watching him, head tipped to one side and eyebrows raised.

“Well?” asked Li. “What’re you thinking?”

James didn’t want to bring voice to what he felt. Fear coursed through his veins and stained his tongue, sharpening the bitter taste of copper that burned into his taste buds. It prickled at his spine and he shivered, forcing his breathing to remain level and smooth.

“I’ve seen this murderer before,” said James, his voice low and hollow. The words seemed to echo in the room. Li stared at him, brow furrowed. That statement, by itself, wasn’t cause for alarm. There were plenty of cold cases in Vale, more by the year as the monsters grew more gruesome and varied. But it was those clues, those feelings, that had James dreading every word he spoke.

Because he’d seen this murderer before, yes. In two cases. Both five years ago. The first had been the murder of one Summer Rose, a young mother with two infant children and two partners. The second had been the very attack that had cost him half his body and six months of his life.

The missing candles, the broken glass, the gouges in the walls and doors, the acid poured over the silver in the house. It was all the same. It was all perfectly consistent. And the missing hearts and lungs, that too, was consistent. But those details, the ones the public had never received, those were the details that James clung to.

But this was impossible. It was all impossible.

Because the Rose killer, his attacker, was behind bars, and had been put there while James was in a goddamn coma, fighting for his life.

“Li,” and damn, if his voice didn’t crack, “this is the Rose killer.”

Li blinked. He shook his head and crossed the room to James, laying a hand upon his shoulder. “That’s impossible,” he said, gently.

“No.” James shook his head. “No, it’s not. Everything is the same, down to the level of corrosion on the silver. Every part of this is the same. This is the Rose killer. It’s the same damn monster that tried to murder me.”

Li frowned. “James, you know I trust you,” he started, and James wanted to turn and ask him ‘really? Do you?’ based on his tone. But that wasn’t helpful. He was just on edge. “But this can’t be the Rose killer. If you’re certain of what you’re seeing…”

“I am,” said James, firmly. He scowled and folded his arms, staring at Li instead of the bodies. “I was obsessed with that case.” He still was, in fact. He still read over that file, those details. He still studied it all and thought about those nights, that attack, whenever he was idle for too long. “It’s the same killer.”

“Okay,” Li nodded, slowly, “if this _is_ the same killer—”

“It is.” James’ voice was sharp and left no room for argument. Li stared up at him, taking a step back. It was rare to see, Li off his game. He was a smaller, slighter man than James, but he’d always stood his ground. To see him shaken, off balance, left James grimacing. He’d caused that. He’d done that.

_Damn it._

“Okay, it is,” said Li, nodding. “But that means—”

“Yeah,” said James. He scrubbed his fingers through his hair and cursed under his breath. “It means, five years ago, we put an innocent woman behind bars.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's go see what Qrow's up to, shall we?
> 
> A lot of this will make more sense the further into the fic we get. I promise.

**Qrow Branwen**

Snapped fingers, a spark, and a crackle as the flame licked the end of the cigarette. He inhaled, drawing dark smoke into his lungs, and exhaled slowly. The smoke licked the night air, shaping into a wispy crow, before dissolving into the wind.

Qrow took a long drag from the cigarette and flicked the ashes onto the rooftop. He leaned against the brick wall of the roof escape and stared down at the city.

It was five in the morning, just a few scant hours before dawn. There was no sign of the sun, yet, and there wouldn’t be. The cloud cover had rolled in sometime around three in the morning, blocking out the light of the full moon and the stars. Electricity crackled in the air, betraying the coming storm. His Mark, burned into the space between his shoulder blades, throbbed tight under his skin. The storm would stay dark, then, and hold onto the night for the day and maybe longer. Meant he had time to pull in the big magic, burn the sigils and rituals into his skin and wait until he needed them.

He sighed, frustrated and low in his throat, almost a growl, because there was a lot of shit he needed to do. But for now, he had a more immediate goal.

He had three hours until dawn.

Three hours before the monsters clawed their way back into the shadows, dragging the kicking, screaming, and limp with them.

Well then, it was time to get to work.

Flicking his cigarette off the roof, Qrow shrugged his coat closer to his body and took three steps forward. One, two, and on the third, he stepped off the rooftop, rolled in midair, and flew off as a regular crow. Or, as regular as a crow with glowing red eyes could be.

Thermals twisted him toward the docks, and Qrow let them. He had business there, in the depths of an old fishing warehouse, long since abandoned by all but the smell of rotten tilapia. In the backs of those old warehouses were where the shadiest parts of the city came to life. Or rather, the shadiest parts that climbed out of the water. He needed to deliver a message, and only a swimmer could take it where it needed to go. After all, the only ways in and out of the prisons, unless you were insane, were through the drains.

In the before-dawn darkness, Qrow found the person he sought. A faunus woman, whose trait had twisted her legs into a long, sleek tail. She leaned against the lip of the floor in the warehouse. It had long since caved in, as had the dock below it, leaving it open to the water underneath.

She looked up when Qrow flew in, and her gaze followed him as he circled the ceiling and drifted down, before transforming not far from her.

“’Ello, bruv,” she said, cocking her head to one side. Her accent spoke of the wastelands, of fallen cities, and of history. He let it wash over him. If she was lucky, she’d get to show off that accent for years to come. If she wasn’t, well, at least he wouldn’t have to worry about her using what she was gonna pay her with. “Got the letter?”

“Yeah,” said Qrow. He dug into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out two tiny bottles, stopped with corks. One of the bottles had a tiny, rolled letter. The other held the payment.

“Is that a fucking basilisk tooth?” asked the woman, leaning up with her palms. “Bloody hell, mate, if I thought you were good for it, I wouldn’t have pushed you off so much.”

Qrow tossed her the letter bottle. She caught it and swallowed it. He knew how this worked. She’d transform into a fish, shrink down, and swim up the drains and into the prison, using a tracking spell to hunt down his target.

“Blood for blood,” he said, shrugging. “You track for my blood; I draw for yours.” The oldest payment method in the world: if a person was to deliver something to your own blood, you paid them with something that required blood to be of use. But whatever that payment was, it had to be worth the cost of delivery, and the risk.

Sneaking into a maximum-security extranormal prison wasn’t easy, and since it could get her killed – or hell, a lot worse, if he was honest – payment had to reflect that.

“You really think I’m gonna die, don’t you?” she asked, as he tossed the second bottle to her. She caught it, turned it over, and whistled, low and sharp. Impressed, then. “Damn.”

“You’ve got twenty-four hours to deliver the letter,” said Qrow. Magic crackled against the tooth fragment. “If she doesn’t touch the letter before then, the bottle destroys the tooth.” At her raised eyebrows, he continued with, “You can’t open either bottle. Don’t try. You’ll destroy them both. And if the letter is destroyed by anyone but my sister, I’ll know.”

The woman let out a low whistle. “Damn. You really went all out for this, didn’t you?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “What’s so important that you have to make sure it gets to her?”

Qrow shrugged. “That isn’t really your business now, is it?”

She hummed and twirled the bottle a few times, before tucking it somewhere on her body. “Fair enough, mate.” She raised both eyebrows at him. “You gonna gimme her name, or are you gonna let my spell tell its story?”

Qrow tilted his head. “If I did that, where would the fun be?”

She chuckled. “All right.” She leaned back from the floor and stretched herself out, treading water with the same sort of ease Qrow could ride thermals. “Thanks for the business, bird man. See you never.”

“One can hope,” replied Qrow. She dove into the water and was gone.

Qrow sighed. He fought the urge to pull a cigarette out, but he needed to fly, and he didn’t want to take out another. Instead, he took a moment to look up at the storming sky, through the broken open roof, and let out a soft sigh.

“Not long now, Raven,” whispered Qrow. Then, rolling his shoulders, he transformed back into a crow and flew out the roof, out into the city.

* * *

Rituals.

They were old magic, older than anything else as far as Qrow knew, and as old magic, they fell to the shadows and to blood. You could dress them up with all the pretty names and hand waving you wanted, ritualistic magic required blood, required sacrifice. And that was that.

It’d been years since Qrow had needed ritualistic magic, but after everything he’d heard in the underground in the last few days… Well, let’s just say he knew the magical underground was about to go dark, in more ways than one.

Monsters climbing up out of the depths, shadows creeping behind the eyes of mortals and summoning their dark masters to pilot innocent limbs. Stolen voices and stolen breaths, fires that never stopped burning and hearts that never needed to beat. Yes, the magical underground knew all about rituals, and they were whispering of a monster that didn’t need them.

Whether it was true or not, Qrow hadn’t a clue, but he wasn’t going to be caught off guard. Not again.

With his basilisk tooth fragment traded to send a message to Raven – it was worth it, she needed to be warned of the fear that lurked in even the looming monsters of the night – he was out of organic sacrifices, and the ritual he was planning required three organic components: blood, bone, and offal.

Bone was easy. Blood, less so. Offal? Hell, it’d been a little over five years since he’d needed offal for a ritual, and he hadn’t done that one alone.

Start with the hardest and work down. Qrow cursed, scrubbed a hand over his face, and stared at the shop across the street. Dawn licked at the edges of the city, but clouds loomed low overhead, their thunderous conversations sending alternating heat and chills through Qrow’s bones.

He figured half an hour, maybe less, before the rain started. He’d spotted four separate chalk sigils on his way up. Those would be destroyed. He hoped whoever’d drawn them didn’t need them anymore.

But he was stalling. Stalling because he didn’t want to walk into the shop that, he knew, had what he needed. There was just one teeny, tiny, _massive_ problem: the owner.

There were a thousand words for the woman who owned that shop, and Qrow knew every single one of them. The Goddess of Death, the All-Seeing Shade, the Shadow, the Informant, to name a few. Qrow’s personal favourite was _Kore._

But he’d long since gained the privilege of her real name: Kali. Her last name was anyone’s guess, for she only went by her first.

Qrow pressed his lips together. He’d already smoked three cigarettes, watching the two-storey shop. He knew he couldn’t stall any longer. And he had a feeling Kali knew he was there. Waiting any longer would just make it worse.

Taking a deep breath, Qrow squared his shoulders and crossed the street, heading up the four stairs into _Eye for an Eye_.

Inside, the shop was opposite to its exterior. From the street, _Eye for an Eye_ was a simple, two-storey shop. To those who knew magic, they could see the jars of magic in the windows, the books that lingered in the rafters. To those who didn’t, the shop was marked as “no entrance unless picking up an order”, the windows covered and the signs displaying things in languages that no longer existed.

A good trick, to keep out the riffraff. Not that Kali needed to worry about that.

Inside, _Eye for an Eye_ was filled with the occult and the terrifying. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with jars, trinkets, jugs, boxes, and all sorts of other containers. The ones closest to Qrow were filled with feathers, marbles, stones, dust, dirt, and the ones he could spy, further along, had the wings of dragonflies, the hearts of frogs, and, in one jar, near the counter, there were human teeth. Baby teeth, to be exact.

The ceiling didn’t exist. Or, it did, but it didn’t, at the same time. It was vines, thick and ancient and black. So old and entwined with one another that they created an impenetrable web. Eyes peered out from the canopy. Bugs skittered along the walls. A twisting vine slipped down into the room, wrapped itself around a soup ladle covered in glittering beetles, and jerked the whole mess back into the canopy. Some of the beetles scattered. Qrow stepped around them as he moved through the shop.

He breathed through his mouth, slow, even breaths that barely parted his lips. The smell of rot and viscera clung to the very essence of the shop. From the shelves that shifted through the middle of the store – never stationery. They moved with Kali’s mind. With her desires.

With her hunger.

He moved with them, passing around books that vibrated and books that screamed. Around eyes that watched and eyes that didn’t. Around stones that were ready for enchanting, and stones that clung to magic so old it made his teeth hurt just to look at them.

And then, just like that, the last shelf moved away, and Qrow came face to face with the legend, herself.

“Qrow.”

“Kali.” He kept his gaze on her as the shop shifted around them, but mostly behind him, destroying the exit until Kali was finished speaking with him. He’d debated, more than once, asking her how she did that. What sort of magic – white, black, blood – she used to chain the store to her soul. He speculated, at times, that the store was a manifestation of her mind, rather than a real, physical place, and stepping through the door simply transported you there.

After all, even the “true” view of the windows betrayed nothing about the inside of the store, it was all fake. And it was much bigger on the inside, too.

“What do you seek?” she asked, tilting her head to one side.

“Ritual ingredients,” said Qrow, bowing his head, just slightly, without taking his eyes off her. “I seek to make a deal.”

Kali hummed and ran her fingers across her lips lip. Her long, lacquered nails almost reached her nose. They were a shade of red so deep, so vivid, that Qrow knew what they must have come from.

Blood for blood.

She licked her lips as she dropped her hands.

“Crossroads demon,” she murmured. There was a curious tone to her voice, an almost absent-minded hunger. Last Qrow checked, Kali couldn’t take souls, goddess or not. She wasn’t that far gone from humanity, yet. The large cat ears atop her head tilted to one side, then the other. The gold of her piercings turned sickly yellow in the green-blue candlelight of the shop. Her eyes, also gold, remained the same. No light, or lack of, could change their glowing colour. “For your sister?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“To free her.” It wasn’t a question.

He answered anyway. “Yes.”

Kali hummed. “No,” she said, after a moment. Qrow’s head shot up. His eyes went wide. “You don’t need me.” He fought the urge to protest. She would explain, if he gave her time. She always did. “You see, the stars have already aligned for your sister.” She reached out with one hand and lifted her teacup by its saucer. She stirred the tea with its tiny spoon, with her other hand. The porcelain clinked together. Tiny bells that rang out, impossibly clear and untouched by the dampening effect the store seemed to have on all other noises. Her nails made a different sound as they touched the porcelain. Almost like distant, ghostly wails.

Qrow tried not to pay attention to it.

“Pardon?” he asked. His voice cracked. He’d spent so long trying to free Raven. His letter hadn’t said as much. It would have been foolish. But he’d told her to be aware, to be vigilant. That he was doing everything he could. He’d told her to be wary. That the world was changing. That the monsters were out in droves.

It was true. But not the full truth. Branwens, Raven always said, could read between the lines. And they never spoke in full truths.

“The Rose killer,” said Kali. She set the spoon down on her saucer and used that hand to lift her teacup to her lips. “He struck, tonight.”

The air went out of Qrow all at once. The Rose Killer. Five fucking years in the dark and now he was killing again. But why now? And what did that mean for Raven?

“When?” asked Qrow.

Kali tilted her head. “A few hours ago,” she said. She took another sip of tea. “Extranormal rights lawyers, I believe.” He didn’t trust the easy way she spoke, as if this meant nothing, when it meant everything.

_Everything._

“Your sister will be freed once the police figure that out.” She smiled at Qrow. “You should be happy, Qrow. You don’t need to sell your soul.”

Qrow narrowed his eyes. There were a lot of questions he wanted to ask. About how she knew the Rose killer had struck, about how she knew what he was up to, properly. About a lot of things. Things that worried him. Things that confused him. Things that terrified him.

“You don’t want me to sell my soul?” asked Qrow, raising both eyebrows.

Kali smiled. She set down her tea on the counter and spread her hands in front of herself. “Of course not. You’re a very valuable man, Qrow.” She steepled her hands in front of her and smiled, but it didn’t reach her golden eyes, and it made Qrow’s stomach roll. “And you are far, far more valuable with your soul intact.”

“Valuable to who?” asked Qrow.

“To yourself,” replied Kali.

Qrow frowned. He said, “And to you.”

She tipped her head to one side. “I would have thought that to be obvious.”

“What do you need my soul for?” asked Qrow. He folded h is arms across his chest and stepped back from Kali.

“Do you still want to go through with your ritual?” asked Kali. She stroked one hand across the lid of the jar filled with what looked to be baby dragon teeth. Baby teeth of any species were easy enough to get, but dragon was… different.

Dragons didn’t lose their teeth. They ate them. However Kali had gotten them, he didn’t want to know.

“If Raven is released, I won’t need to,” said Qrow. He cast a glance toward the ceiling. Something lurked in the shadows. A panther, he knew. But he had no idea how it fit in the ceiling. Or, the lack of ceiling. “Why did the killer strike again?”

“A good question,” said Kali. She raised an eyebrow. “You’re full of them.”

Qrow swallowed. “I try,” he said.

Kali cast a glance toward the ceiling and hummed. “You should go,” she said. “It appears Shroud isn’t pleased to see you.”

Qrow nodded. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“The information,” said Qrow.

Kali hummed. “You’ll repay me soon enough.”

Qrow shivered and turned, seeing the shop rearrange itself so Qrow had a straight shot for the door. He didn’t run, but it was a near thing.

Back on the street, Qrow took a deep breath and closed his eyes, scrubbing his hand over his face.

Raven was innocent. He’d always known she was innocent. He’d lost his family, his reputation, his _everything_, trying to prove it. And now, she was going to be released on something neither of them could control.

What sort of sick twist of fate was that?

He shook his head. A sick feeling clung to his stomach, to his chest, to his very soul. He couldn’t shake the fear in his bones, nor the strange feeling Kali’s words had brought on. How did she know the Rose killer was out again? When had he struck? Was Kali connected? No, she couldn’t be.

But could she?

He shook his head again and sucked in a sharp breath, but the air was sour. Too many questions. Not enough answers. He needed rest. Soon, he’d find answers. But first, he needed to sleep. He needed to be ready for Raven’s release.

And besides, for once, Kali had missed the mark. She was right: he no longer needed a crossroads demon to save Raven, but that didn’t mean he was off the hook for rituals. Blood magic had many uses, after all.

It just seemed he’d have to go elsewhere to gather his supplies.

But, for now, he turned toward home. He wanted to meet Raven at the gates, the moment she was released.

It’d been six years, after all. There was a lot he needed to tell her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are love!

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is appreciated! This is a much different undertaking than I'm used to, so I don't really know what people are gonna think of it.


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